


your heart is your masterpiece.

by shamusiel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, i know i know i've let you down, sleepy Viktor, soft warm domestic husbands, there's literally no plot to this i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:10:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamusiel/pseuds/shamusiel
Summary: The world still wonders why. Why Viktor chose him. Not only to coach, but to be with forever. To share a home with, a bed; to kiss and hug and laugh and cry. To them Viktor is some god forever unreachable, light years from anyone else. To them he’s a marble sculpture carefully crafted only to be set up behind velvet ropes to be stared at and admired, neither touchable nor truly understood.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i got bored and decided to write... whatever this is haha. hope you enjoy it!

It’s weird.

Yuuri doesn’t know exactly _what,_ though. It’s not a bad kind of weird, or at least… he doesn’t _think_ so. It’s just not where he had ever seen himself ending up in life. Still in Hasetsu of course, he doesn’t think he could ever leave this place even if he wanted to. Too many memories and too many people to leave behind. He knows this place better than anywhere else. It's home, it always will be.

Maybe it’s not living with his parents anymore. Maybe it’s not being in competitive figure skating after he finally had that large, golden medal hanging heavy about his neck. The peaceful life he never thought he’d have… sharing it with the man currently pressed against his back whose hot breath ghosts over his nape as he sleeps soundly. An arm is spun about Yuuri’s hips, loose enough that he can leave the bed if he wants to. Not that he does, of course. It’s still early in the morning. The chill from outside seeps in, makes him burrow further beneath the blankets.

Makes him press closer to the man beside him. Makes him turn over to peer at his sleeping face.  
  
_Viktor Nikiforov._ Now twenty-eight years old. A living legend in figure skating. Winner of five consecutive World Championships and Grand Prix Finals. Winner of _People_ magazine’s ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ four times in a row. A man who’s been on more talk shows and commercials than any rockstar or actor that Yuuri can remember.  
  
He definitely has the attitude and charisma of a rockstar or actor, at least.

 _Viktor Nikiforov._ Who always smells like coffee and some sort of expensive French cologne that Yuuri wouldn’t be able to pronounce the name of even if he really tried. Who wears clothes that cost enough money to feed his entire family for life and probably pay off any debt he still owed. Who smiles out of the corner of his mouth in a way that makes you want to swoon or makes you want to throttle him or maybe even both at the same time.

 _Viktor Nikiforov._ Right next to him. Lying in bed. _Their_ bed.

It’s approaching a year since it’s begun, this little domestic life of theirs away from the nosy press and flashing cameras. Yuuri still doesn’t think he’s used to it. Doesn’t think he’ll ever be.

The world still wonders _why._ Why Viktor chose him. Not only to coach, but to be with forever. To share a home with, a bed; to kiss and hug and laugh and cry. To them Viktor is some god forever unreachable, light years from anyone else. To them he’s a marble sculpture carefully crafted only to be set up behind velvet ropes to be stared at and admired, neither touchable nor truly understood.

Yuuri never thought he’d know more about Viktor Nikiforov than the ones that had relentlessly chased him with cameras.

The man whose face gets blotchy and red when he’s embarrassed. The man who whines when he has even the tiniest cold. Who whistles through his front teeth when it’s quiet because he knows it annoys Yuuri and Yuuri’s huffy reactions make him laugh.  
  
**_(_** _Though, Yuuri never really tells him to stop. Viktor is probably always able to see him smile each time._ **_)_**

The man who knows nearly every word from every song off of Frank Sinatra’s _Nothing but the Best_ album. _**(** How many times has Yuuri heard a drunken, slurred, off-pitch, heavily accented rendition of ‘Call Me Irresponsible’? **)**_ The man whose stomach seemed like a bottomless pit. Which is a lot coming from Yuuri Katsuki, because despite his habits of overeating even _he_ got full sometimes.

Who kept a small, worn photo of a beautiful woman and handsome man kept in his wallet at all times. Between them, a little boy with hair the color of moonlight, eyes like a clear morning sky with a smile all too familiar. Viktor doesn't talk about it. Yuuri doesn't ask about it.

It was the smallest yet at the same time _largest_ sign that Viktor Nikiforov had been far more lonely than anyone could have imagined before he flew to Japan to be Yuuri’s coach purely on a whim.

Yuuri reaches up to Viktor’s face with one hand to brush a stray pale eyelash from the other’s cheek. Skin so warm and soft to the touch and Yuuri lingers there because he knows he _can._ He pushes silky bangs away from Viktor’s face, sees how his eyelids twitch and his lips part on a gentle exhale.

 **“Yuuri…”** The arm at his hip moves to instead curl about his waist. Fingertips dance along his spine through the thin fabric of his black t-shirt. A smile plays at Viktor’s lips and it’s evident he’s awake despite not opening his eyes just yet. **“My Yuuri…”**

A little yawn is given in response. Their chests press flush together, their legs tangle, their hearts beat in tandem. Yuuri leans in to give a feather-light kiss to his lover’s bottom lip. Soft, sleepy, he feels Viktor smile against him before his lashes flutter as eyes crack open.

There won’t ever be a morning where Yuuri’s breath doesn’t hitch when he sees those blue eyes, so beautiful and full of life even when blinking away drowsiness, looking down at him with the same tender love and adoration he's always given. There will be so many more mornings like this to come. Or, he _hopes_ so. He hopes it’s not a dream, or that Viktor won’t tire of him and leave him behind to return to his life of glamor.

Yet every shared look upon waking up reassures him Viktor is here to stay. Always, always, _always._ Because he’s the man who knows Viktor more than the world does. He’s the man who manages to embarrass Viktor to give him that blotchy unflattering blush, who takes care of him when he’s sick, who grins to himself when he tries to annoy him. He’s the man who puts up with drunken singing, who lets Viktor have the leftovers on his plate. Who gave Viktor a family when Viktor didn’t have one anymore.

They have all the time in the world and there’s still so many things to learn about Viktor Nikiforov.

_Viktor Nikiforov._

The man who looked at him like he was the most beautiful, intricate masterpiece he’s ever laid eyes on.

The man he’s so undeniably, irrevocably in love with.


End file.
